chest. In all of her years in New York, she’d never felt as safe as she had those few moments in Hank’s arms. That, she thought with a crooked grin, was the illusion of the cowboy. It was true they were men of honor who could be counted on for a dramatic rescue. She’d never known braver men than those who worked with her uncle on the farm. She’d seen them risk life and limb for a few moments of glory on a thrashing bull or rodeo bronc. The local weekly rodeo would start at eight Friday night in Pecos. She had half a mind to ride out there and watch for a little while. Maybe, along the way, she’d ask around to see who’d bought her uncle’s cows.
She put her mind back on the task of getting the will. She’d known about the document since she was fifteen years old, when Albert had sat her down and explained what a will was and where he was putting it. He was a man who took care of loose ends.
She took a breath, willing herself to be calm, and opened the box. A sheaf of letters and documents covered the top. Beneath that was Aunt Em’s jewelry. Stephanie blinked the tears away and lifted the papers out. She couldn’t look at the jewelry. Not now. She didn’t want to see the emerald pin that Albert gave Em on her fortieth birthday. It was in the shape of a clover, for good luck.
Trying to shut out the memories, Stephanie sorted through the documents. She was surprised to find letters from Albert to Emily. The date was 1961, and the postmark was from Pecos, Texas, to the University of Texas in Austin, where Em had gone to college. There were at least sixty letters, all bundled with a ribbon. Stephanie put them aside to read later, when her heart wasn’t so wounded. At last she found the will. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been afraid the document was gone until her fingers curled around it. She opened it up and read the simple terms. The ranch and all contents had been left to her with the instruction that she create a trust.
She gazed out the window and saw Hank and Rodney riding off on two of Rodney’s personal horses. Thank goodness for the wrangler. There wouldn’t be a grazing animal on the place if he hadn’t kept his own.
The empty fields made her think of the terms of the trust. Albert had seen the handwriting on the wall. Subdivisions and developments had begun to eat away at the ranches. Land was more valuable for a home site than a pasture, so he’d left instruction in his will that McCammon Ranch remain a working ranch. The profits from cattle sales were to be plowed back into the ranch, for hands and materials to keep it going. The house, should Stephanie choose not to live in it, would be the residence of the ranch foreman.
It was a gift to future generations of Texans, those who might never see a working ranch, except for one created by a trust.
Stephanie gripped the document tightly. She had every intention of seeing Albert’s dream come true. Now all she had to do was find out what in the hell was going on and who in the hell had put a For Sale sign on the ranch.
She went to the phone and dialed information for Kemper Realty, the firm on the sign. In a moment she was talking to the realty receptionist.
“Who listed McCammon Ranch?” she asked.
“That would be Todd Hughes,” the woman said. “Would you like to speak to him?”
“More than you’ll ever know,” she said sweetly.
In a moment she heard a baritone voice identifying himself as Todd Hughes.
“I’m Stephanie Chisholm,” she said, listening to the silence on the other end. “I just ran over a For Sale sign on my ranch. What can you tell me about it?”
“Ms. Chisholm?” There was disbelief in his voice. “I had no idea you were in town. I was led to believe you wouldn’t be coming for the funeral. Where are you staying?”
“In my home.”
There was another long pause. “I believe you need to talk to Nate Peebles.”
“Who the hell is that?” she asked, her voice still sugary sweet.
“He’s an attorney.” Hughes cleared his throat. “He owns McCammon Ranch. Or at least he will when the will is probated. He’s the one who told me to put up the sign.”
Stephanie dropped into one of Uncle Albert’s hand-made chairs. “He what?”
“Albert McCammon left the ranch to him. I saw the will myself. The process of probating it has already been started. It’s just a matter of time before—“
“He ordered the livestock sold?” Stephanie knew she was shouting and didn’t care. In the bottom of her heart, she’d thought it was a mistake. That someone, acting on Albert’s best interests, had taken it upon themselves to sell the stock. She’d thought it would be a matter of explanation and everything would be put right. Now, she saw her assumption had been wrong. Dead wrong.
“Mr. Hughes. I have my uncle’s will in my hand. It states clearly the ranch goes to me, so that I can establish a working ranch trust, per my uncle’s wishes. I advise you to take the ranch off the market. Now tell me who has the livestock?”
“I didn’t handle that sell.”
“Who has the cows? And the horses. And Banjo.”
“Avis McElhanney.”
“And where would I find him?”
“He has a place down on County Road 17.”
Stephanie had a bad feeling. “A ranch.”
“Not exactly. It’s a holding lot for the meat packers.”
Stephanie didn’t bother with a goodbye. She slammed the phone down, returned the will to the wall safe and ran out of the house. Behind her, Familiar came at a dead gallop. By the time she opened the truck door, the cat flew past her and into the passenger seat.
Stephanie tore down the driveway, the SUV slewing in the gravel as she made a curve. She had to get to McElhanney’s before the cows were either killed or loaded into transport trucks. Those red Angus cows were Albert’s pride and joy. If anything bad happened to those cows, she was personally going to dig out Nate Peebles’s heart with a spoon.
Chapter Three
Hank had ridden the western fence line while Rodney rode east. The wind had begun to pick up a little, and Hank was glad for the breeze. It was still hot, but at least the air was moving. He’d chosen Flicker, a red roan mare, from the six horses Rodney kept in the McCammon barn. She was a willing mount with an easy trot and tireless energy.
The land dipped slightly and he came off the rise and reined Flicker to a stop. He couldn’t believe it. The fence was still up, but obviously not for long. A bulldozer sat against the fence, perched to plow it down.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked himself as he rode up to the piece of heavy equipment. No one was around. It was as if the dozer had been driven to the ends of civilization and then abandoned. But he knew better. Someone would be back, and in a matter of minutes, that person could rip out what would take months to replace. He slipped the key to the dozer into his pocket and followed a heavy set of tire tracks that led out. Someone had brought the dozer, unloaded it and left.
Hank had no doubt the intended target for the dozer was the fence. There wasn’t anything else around to take down. He turned Flicker to the east and headed back to the ranch at a gallop. Someone was
